MBA JOURNAL(Wharton) From BW

chipmunk

INTRODUCTION

Lyon Hardgrave: Who I Am and Why B-School is for Me

Eight years ago, as my undergraduate career at Rice University neared its midpoint, I was still undecided on a major. During a survey of a series of more experienced individuals, I received a revelation. A technical undergraduate degree followed by an MBA, I was told by a family friend, guaranteed one the "keys to the kingdom." I was not precisely sure what that meant, but having already weathered far too many nights of ramen noodles and Natural Light, it sounded heavenly. I blithely chose to major in environmental engineering, confident that my future happiness was secured.

Well, as anyone with an ounce of common sense might have guessed, things did not quite pan out as planned. Two years out of school, and I was stuck in a miserable engineering job. Determined to refocus my career, I moved into a financial consulting position and began focusing on acquiring the second half of the promised duo, my MBA. Once again I was greeted with a barrage of advice. Most often, I was told that unless you get into a "Top Twenty" MBA program, it is hardly worth the effort. Still smarting from my original faith in the conventional wisdom, I received the advice skeptically. To my surprise, though, my research suggested my friends might be right. An MBA will cost you two years and, at some schools, upwards of $50,000. Very few schools can promise a decent return on the investment.

My research further indicated that entry into any of the top programs was probably going to require a few more years of experience. Fortunately, I was enjoying my consulting position immensely. I was gaining exposure to wide variety of problems related to trading and risk management, and I discovered that I relished the opportunity to wrestle with them.

It occurred to me only later that previous to this position, I had no idea what MBAs actually did with their degrees. I had planned all along to get an MBA, but aside from acquiring the promised keys, I had not really thought of what I would do with it. After a couple of years consulting, I realized that I wanted to pursue a career related to finance, which, by happy coincidence, is a common career for MBA graduates.

Despite my newfound enthusiasm, my first attempt at MBA applications was a disappointment. I sorely underestimated the work involved in the application, and between long hours at my job and the 20-40 hours required for each application, I was pinched for time. As a result, my applications had weaknesses -- and, not surprisingly, ended in rejection. (A bit of advice to MBA applicants: Start early and work diligently. Elite business schools have the luxury of being able to choose from the best of the best. Any weaknesses in your application will be magnified.)

My plan was in tatters. But, as John Lennon once said, "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans." Even as I was finishing the last of my doomed applications, my consulting group was preparing to launch a European office in London. They asked me to lead the pioneering effort, and the two years that followed were exhilarating. During the period, I traveled throughout Europe, confronting an array of professional cultures that challenged me to reconsider some of my closely held assumptions about business, career, and life. My perspectives were altered irrevocably. In retrospect, it would have been tragic if I had attended business school so quickly. (A second bit of advice: if you have the chance to work overseas, take it. You will not regret it.)

One would have hoped that my European experiences might have transformed me into a debonair figure with worldly charm. Alas, that is not the case, but it doesn't mean I can't fake it. Give me a set of cufflinks and a dirty Sapphire martini, and I can prattle away winningly about the topic of the day. While I enjoy the occasional moments of luxury, I find greater pleasure in simple delights. View me in my natural habitat, and you will see the real me, largely unchanged by my experiences. I still love Chris Farley films, pick-up football, Dave Matthews, IHOP, and fishing at dawn. To the extent that the real me fantasizes about my perfect life, it looks like a J.Crew catalogue ad -- me, walking on a windswept beach, clad in gray T-shirt and rumpled khakis, with a beautiful girl and a chocolate Lab by my side.

Of course, the assumption inherent to that cheesy picture is that I have enough money to pay for the beach house, the girl's extravagant tastes, and the dog's veterinary bills, which brings us right back to the MBA. Except for my stated interest in finance and an international career, I really do not have a clue what I want to do after graduation. Hopefully, the industry and company discussions that are an integral part of the first semester will help me with that decision. In any case, I feel confident that my experience at Wharton will show me the way. While I long ago ditched my fantasies that a Wharton MBA will magically provide me with the keys to the kingdom, there is little doubt it will give me the tools and opportunities to shape a fulfilling career.

For now, the challenge is adjusting to my status as a student. After years of positive cash flow, I am afraid it will be difficult to relearn the penny-pinching ways of my undergraduate days. On that note, if you are in the Philly area, feel free to drop me a line (hardgrav@wharton.upenn.edu). I have plenty more bits of advice. And, considering my circumstances, I ask but a meager tithe (boxes of ramen noodles and cases of Natty Light will both be accepted).

chipmunk

GMAT: 770
Undergraduate GPA: 3.2
Work Experience: 6 years
Age: 27
Schools Applied to: Wharton (accept), INSEAD (accept), MIT (ding)

For those of you toying with the idea of submitting an application to an MBA program, let me caution you. MBA applications are tedious, mind numbing, and expensive. Unless you really want to go to B-school, save yourself hundreds of dollars and a few dozen hours of torture.

That being said, if you are a serious MBA candidate, there are no shortcuts. With acceptance rates hovering around 10%, entry into an elite school requires an immaculate application. Your competitors are as fiercely motivated and as rabidly perfectionist as you are. You can bet that they are working the extra hours to make their applications bulletproof. If you are not willing to make the same commitment to your apps, you are wasting your time.

If that last paragraph scared you in any way, that's good. I could have used a similar speech on several occasions. As it happens, last year was not my first try at the B-school application process. Nor was it my second. Nope, last year was round three for me, and the process of picking myself up after two rounds of rejection taught me a few lessons. There are plenty of books out there that have much more reliable advice (including the BusinessWeek Guide to the Best Business Schools), but if you want to avoid my dubious three-peat, consider these tips:

1. Start now, apply early - I am a fervent believer in the virtues of procrastination, but my devotion twice impaired my applications. My late start the first time can be excused by my inexperience, but I approached my applications the next year with a complete awareness of their difficulty. Rather than attack the applications as soon as they were available in early autumn, I set them aside. There was plenty of time, I reasoned. As the temperature dropped, my professional responsibilities heated up. As I struggled to keep up with the demands of my consulting work, weekends slipped by unnoticed. My application remained untouched. By the time I was able to regain my balance, I was facing a time shortage similar to that of the previous year.

In short, start you apps as soon as possible. Give yourself twice as much time as you think is necessary. As of this year, Wharton no longer has rolling admissions. They have changed to a three round system, but their first round application deadline of November 8 is still very early. Make an effort to get your application in by this date. Any later and you are needlessly penalizing yourself.

2. Make it perfect - Edit and proofread. Proofread and edit. Let your family read it and let your friends read it. Do not send it out the door until it is flawless.

3. Apply to a variety of schools - Until you have applied once, it is difficult to know how well you stack up to the competition. At the elite schools, the entering classes seem to be getting both older and smarter (based on GMAT scores at least), so your best bet is to apply to a series of target schools as well as a couple of back-ups. Prioritize your applications beforehand. This would seem to be common sense, but in a time crunch, you may be forced to drop some applications.

4. Work on the recommendations - Approach your advocates now. Give them plenty of lead time. Many of your advocates will be happy to allow you to provide input, so take advantage of that and work with them to make sure their recommendation casts you in a light consistent with the rest of your application. If your advocate is particularly time-strapped, you may be surprised by how willing they are to let you script your own recommendation.

5. Be honest - Absolutely do not make up facts. Admissions personnel are unlikely to investigate, but you never know. In my case, an admissions officer at each of my target schools called my advocates this year. They only wanted to confirm that the recommendations were genuine, and they did not ask about the content of the recommendations. Had they suspected fraud, they undoubtedly would have investigated further.

6. Don't be too honest - Admissions officers expect to see certain themes in the essays. "I hate my job" and "I want to get rich" are not among them, so stick with the feel-good stuff advised by the books. For those who think they might get points for honesty, one of our advisers asked incoming students how many of them put the true reasons for their application to Wharton in their essays. Not a single hand was raised.

You will probably hear similar advice from other sources. I cannot stress enough the importance of putting together a superlative package, particularly this year. We are in a down economy, so you can expect the number of applications to rise. This year's applicant pool may be the toughest ever.

A word about getting rejected - elite schools send out more rejection letters than you can imagine. Even if your resume sparkles, odds are that at least one school will reject you. Almost without exception, every person I know in an MBA program was rejected by at least one other MBA program. The whole application process is a game, and with a 90% rejection rate, the odds are not with you, so keep a sense of humor with you at all times. If you get denied, remember that several thousand equally smart people were rejected right along with you, and there is plenty of cold beer in the fridge.

Of course, there is a third alternative to rejection or acceptance. It is a purgatory called the "wait list". Talk about kissing your sister - the meager comfort you get from hearing that the admissions committee does not think you totally worthless is balanced by several more months of the same gnawing, anxious feeling that has plagued you for the last several months. Call it paranoia, but since Wharton had rejected me twice already, their notification this spring that I was waitlisted struck me as a mere delay towards an inevitable conclusion. I felt like a field mouse in the clutches of a tomcat, batting me around for its pleasure, biding its time before it eats me for lunch.

My only consolation was a conversation I had with a friend a couple of years ago. After being waitlisted by Wharton, she had asked a third person to write her a letter of recommendation. My friend was accepted. The third letter may or may not have helped, since they may have accepted her anyway, but the evidence suggested it certainly did not hurt her. With that in mind, I responded to my waitlist notification by requesting four additional letters from associates who had not been directly involved in my original Wharton application. Inundating the admissions office with recommendations is a dangerous maneuver, since you may irritate them in the process, but I felt it was worth a shot. The gamble paid off, and I was accepted. If you end up on the waitlist, the experts may recommend a different approach, but I say you pull out all the stops and make it clear to the school that you really want to be there. As with the original application process, communicating your passion for the school and your education is almost as important as your resume itself.

chipmunk

The biggest adjustment for most new students is Philadelphia itself. Wharton's location there has always seemed incongruous to me. The most forward-thinking business school in the world is sited in a city stuck in the 70s. Gritty, surly, and bruised, with weed-choked sidewalks and dilapidated buildings, Philadelphia is disconcerting, especially to those with roots in more cosmopolitan cities.

Penn's campus is near some particularly rough areas. As a result, most Wharton students live across the Schuylkill River in an upscale area near Rittenhouse Square. We tend to socialize in the same area, often limiting ourselves to bars and restaurants that feel safely isolated from the surrounding urban decay.

As visitors to this city, our tendency to shy from the rougher areas is understandable, but unfortunate. Beneath its fractured, graffiti-covered façade, Philly is vibrant. I live in a rough area, and I have to deal with a daily obstacle course of drunks, but within a block of my apartment are a dynamite soul food café and a Jamaican restaurant with the most succulent jerk chicken north of Montego Bay. Look past the exterior ugliness and explore. You will find Philadelphia fascinating, and like many second years, you will probably fall in love with it.

Growing up outside of Washington, D.C., I was already familiar with Philly's idiosyncrasies before I arrived for pre-term. I felt much less confident about what to expect from Wharton itself. I was about to meet the brightest business leaders of my generation. It was a bit intimidating.

We spent the first afternoon of our Wharton careers at a mixer. To my surprise, everyone was nice, really nice. Saccharine, charmed to meet you, glad to know you, nice. The pleasantries did not fit with my preconception of Wharton students as a bunch of ambitious, self-absorbed, back-stabbing over-achievers. Only later did I realize that I had been seduced by the art of networking.

Plenty of books will argue that networking is the most important business skill for an aspiring CEO. I am a decent networker, but it was not until my arrival at Wharton that I noticed my relative clumsiness. My fellow students were networking gurus, elegantly lighting from one conversation to the next in a choreographed ballet of smiles, handshakes, and Palm Pilots. Shocked by my peers' agility, I vowed to spend my pre-term learning the dance. While I am still a novice, I have learned much.

At the core, there are three types of networking:

1. Professional - This is the standard type of networking and is initiated whenever two MBA students meet for the first time. The ritual is typically launched by a series of these three questions: "What's your name?" "Where are you from?" "What were doing before this?" The first five minutes of a conversation are spent answering these questions, usually with the same exact answers that were offered up in each of the previous n identical conversations. Once the three questions have been fully covered, each party desperately looks for anything in their own experience that might be related to the experiences of the other party. No stretch is considered too tenuous (e.g "So, you're from Idaho? My aunt Margaret lives there."). Ideally a commonality is discovered, and the two parties strike up an engaging conversation. More likely, an awkward silence develops until one of the parties confesses that he needs to go "mingle".

2. Familial - This seems to be the most effective type of networking, but it requires a partner and/or kids. The kids bond, the partners bond, and through conversations about weddings and diapers, the two parties apparently bond. My conclusion is mostly supposition. Like most bachelors, I don't really understand this form of networking. Its dynamics, language, and rituals are a bit of mystery to me.

3. Alcoholic - For those of us not yet privy to the mysteries of Method #2, society has created this simple and straightforward alternative. A friend once told me that the word "networking" is just a euphemism for "drinking". My own experience confirms this statement. With the addition of an open bar, traditionally "professional" networking opportunities can easily devolve into long nights of tequila shots, conversations about past relationships, and incoherent arguments about sports and politics. It's an absurd way to build a relationship, but I have come to the conclusion that, short of family, there is no stronger bond than an evening of Sinatra karaoke followed by a morning of shared hangovers. Since networking is all about affecting an interest in someone who you would otherwise prefer to avoid, it can be tricky to discern the personalities in a class. Nonetheless, my impression is that the stereotype of Wharton students, and MBA candidates in general, as ruthless, selfless jerks is absurd. Students here are uniformly smart, ambitious, and self-assured, but I have seen few instances where self-confidence has turned into an ugly display of arrogance. Of course, pre-term is a relatively low stress period, so smiles are easy to maintain. It remains to be seen how my class reacts when classes begin and the pressure builds.

While pre-term is mostly about networking, Wharton offers a series of classes to both prepare and entertain the incoming student. The classes do not count, but they do give you some sense of what you will be facing when the program begins in earnest. Some of the classes prep you specifically for your core classes in September, but the school offers a range of elective classes as well. Some of these classes are outstanding and should not be missed. One professor offers a series of lectures titled the "History of Business" which is nothing short of extraordinary, and the finance department offers a trading simulation that plots you against your fellow classmates.

Except for managerial economics, all of the core courses start over from the beginning once the semester begins. This makes some sense, since it allows students who have been out of school for years to readjust to university life, but it also encourages a cavalier attitude. Pre-term classes are widely attended, but outside the classroom, students give minimum effort.

Pre-term wraps up with a two-day retreat. The destination this year is a rickety summer camp that looks like the abandoned set of a Friday the 13th flick. Students are introduced to their "learning team" at the beginning of the retreat, and over the next 24 hours, second-year students lead us through a series of exercises and games intended to begin the team building process. The whole thing is pretty cheesy, but it does provide me with a relaxed environment in which to meet my five fellow team members, who will have a massive impact on my Wharton experience.

With the retreat completed, our first "real" classes are merely days away. Most of the students venture out for one last weekend of "networking", filling their Palms as they fill their glasses.

chipmunk

Thank God for beer and pizza. These two staples became the fuel for the last leg of the marathon that was my first quarter. As work piled upon work, and trivialities such as my personal health and hygiene became secondary concerns, it was the good men of Papa John's and Yuengling beer that kept me from collapse. By the end of the quarter, I felt like a prizefighter on the ropes, bloodied and staggered, gamely fighting off blows, just trying to make it to the final bell. I had expected new challenges upon my entrance to Wharton, but I was unprepared for the severe demands upon my time. The juggling act was exhausting. To illustrate, let me provide you with a quick breakdown of my life.

Classes: Like a fair percentage of my classmates, I did not waive out of any classes. That left me with six core classes: leadership, finance, microeconomics, statistics, accounting, and marketing. That class line-up may not sound inspiring to most people, but considering the fact that my undergraduate academic experience consisted of classes like "Concrete Design," one might understand why I found the material so engaging.

Each cohort shares the same set of core classes. Since many of the classes are structured around classroom discussion, the advantage of this arrangement is that the cohort cultivates a culture. Initially, it can be quite intimidating to share your opinions with a room full of sixty people, all of whom are quietly evaluating you as you evaluate them. As the culture develops, and you become comfortable with the same crowd, it becomes much easier to take risky positions. Early classes were typified by polite, cautious conversation. More recently, my cohort mates have developed a willingness to take on more combative and perilous positions. It is a healthy evolution, and one that would likely never occur if the classroom population was constantly changing. I, for one, have stuck my foot in my mouth more often than a newborn. Better that only a limited portion of the overall population should bear witness to those howlers. Of course, I'm not the only joker, which has given our cohort a sizable library of "in" humor.

For any one class, different cohorts get assigned to different professors. While the teaching is consistently excellent, there is nonetheless significant variation from one professor to another. It is totally out of your control, so there is no reason to worry about it. Regardless, you are unlikely to be disappointed with the teaching.

The classes themselves run the gamut from light reading, discussion, and written reports to intense problem-solving. The well-documented herd mentality of Wharton is for real. In pre-term, second years started whispering that statistics was a hellish class, and students should make every effort to test out of it. A panic started, and the pre-term class was packed with students feverishly trying to learn a quarter's worth of statistics in a single week. Most were unsuccessful. Not surprisingly in retrospect, the class ended up being relatively benign. Keep that in mind when my peers and I start passing on pearls of wisdom to you next fall.

Homework: An unfortunate consequence of the previous activity, homework assignments were my single largest time demand, with volumes that sometimes bordered on the ridiculous. If there is a single complaint that I consistently heard from my peers, it was the volume of work. The work is not inherently difficult, but there is huge amount of it. I think many people find their first quarter at Wharton to be an extended workshop in time management. They spend most of their time fighting fires. As a result, they do not always have the opportunity to sit back and internalize what they're learning. Fortunately, I did not have this problem. If I may brag for a moment, I have, over the years, developed a raw talent for procrastination into a finely honed ability to assiduously avoid work. As a result, I spent most of my time reflecting on my work rather than ever actually doing it.

Networking: Before you get excited, this is largely of the non-alcoholic variety. Beginning around the second week of class, recruiters begin descending on campus. So begins a series of employer information sessions, receptions, and dinners that help companies separate the devoted from the merely interested. In past years, when jobs were more plentiful, the attitude of students towards these sessions was somewhat cavalier, but that is certainly no longer the case. Citigroup's presentation, which attracted several dozen students three years ago, attracted several hundred this year. Within my class, there is a palpable sense of uneasiness about our job prospects, and the main manifestation of this fear is our willingness to devote inordinate amounts of time shaking hands, asking "intelligent" questions, and writing "thank you" emails. Add resume workshops, mock interviews, and applications, and the effort required to sell yourself (and outsell your fellow students) becomes significant. This time requirement completely blind-sided me. Entering Wharton, I had no idea the recruiting process was going to be so much work. While the effort is understandable, it is also a pity, since the rounds of corporate glad-handing have pulled me away from more interesting activities (speakers, seminars, etc.) on several occasions.

Those three activities alone occupied 80% of my time during the first quarter. The rest was devoted to the necessities: eating, sleeping, socializing, exercise, and football. With time at a premium, some of these activities were inevitably shortchanged. In my case, it was sleep and exercise. Acquiring bags both under my eyes and around my waist was not part of my original vision for my Wharton experience, but it seems to be par for the course here. It doesn't help that I've developed an unshakeable addiction to mushroom cheesesteak.

One of the surprises of the first quarter has been my correspondence, largely through this column, with many Wharton hopefuls. Since I've suffered through the application process on several occasions, I can empathize with the anxiety that most applicants feel right now. It's hard to plan your future when your next couple of years hinge on decisions that are largely out of your control. My only advice, which I wish I might have received, is to relax. In the whole realm of things, B-school really is not that important. It's gotten more hype than it deserves in recent years, and particularly in light of the trauma of this year, you need to put that into perspective. I realize it's much easier to say that now that I survived the admissions process, but it is nonetheless true. If you get in, celebrate your good fortune. If you do not, remember there are many roads to happiness, and the vast majority of them do not run anywhere near a B-school campus.

With that being said, I wish everyone a safe and happy holiday.

chipmunk

After a brutal first quarter, the second quarter gave our class a chance to catch its breath. With a moderated workload, we finally fully adjusted to the rhythms of Wharton life. In the process, our class found its groove.

The teaching continued to be excellent. In addition to the second half of my basic finance and accounting classes, my schedule included a roster of other core classes. Each class had a unique pace and structure, from the humorous lessons on operations management from Dr. Terweisch and his irrepressible cranberries to the full-fledged idiocy of some of the skits in our management class. Each skit was used to illustrate the results of a case study, and the presentations were simply hysterical, including Mark's drawling Southern preacher and Sameer and Clay's ill-considered attempt at interpretive dance. My turn as a penny-ante Jerry Springer paled in comparison.

The most interesting class was a weekly examination of business ethics led by Professor Larry Zicklin, chairman of Neuberger Berman. Coinciding with the Enron collapse, Zicklin's analysis of the real-time case study sparked furious debate. His analysis of the Enron case was razor sharp, and war stories from his own days around a trading floor added depth to the discussion. Our cohort continued to gel, with some students eagerly throwing out opinions that were downright reckless. The change from the cautious comments of our initial weeks has been dramatic.

One of Wharton's advertised strengths is its diversity, especially in comparison to other top B-schools. When I was choosing among programs, I somewhat discounted the importance of this trait, but in practice, the varied backgrounds of my peers has been invaluable. No matter what the subject matter, there always seems to be at least one person with specific knowledge. As Enron heated up, several people with energy and auditing backgrounds added clarity. Aaron, one of my teammates, worked in the music industry. The final case in our competitive strategy class involved BMG and its response to threats from the Internet. We scored the top grade, not least because Aaron kindly re-wrote my portion of the analysis, leaving me time to catch up on The Sopranos.

In general, it seems the whole class relaxed, perhaps adjusting to the realities of operating within the limits of Wharton's grade non-disclosure policy. The policy states that it is unethical for students to disclose their grades to anyone, particularly employers. It effectively means that, at least to the outside world, an MBA is an MBA is an MBA.

Actually, that's not completely true. First-years scoring in the top 10% of the class in each semester are awarded a spot on the prestigious Director's List and, come May, the top 20% of our class will be awarded First-Year Honors. Considering the caliber of the student population, the honor of earning a spot on either list should not be under-estimated, but the practical value of the award is questionable. In some career disciplines, such as consulting, the award can give an edge in the tight labor market. In others, such as sales and trading, my discipline of choice, there is less concern for academic performance. When I asked the head of one trading desk about the importance of my grades, he told me, quite vigorously, that he didn't give a plugged nickel about my grades. In his estimation, the Wharton MBA itself was more than sufficient. [Apologies for the use of the term "plugged nickel". No self-respecting trader would ever use such an anachronism. He was a bit more colorful, comparing the importance of my grades to a mouse's posterior.]

The seeming triviality of our grades is perhaps for the best, since the recruiting process heated up in the second quarter. Gone were the innocent days of the employer information sessions when students were encouraged to explore, and dumb questions were welcome, even cute. By December, you were expected to know what you wanted to do for the summer, where you wanted to do it, and why an employer should waste an interview slot on you. So continued a mating dance of dinners, days on the job, and "informational" interviews (translate as "real" interviews dressed up as office visits).

The flurry of activity builds to a crescendo, the Dedicated Interview Period, known conversationally as DIP week. During this week in late January, first-year classes are cancelled so students can concentrate on interviewing with the swarm of recruiters that sweeps down on to the campus. The large firms hand out virtually all their offers during this week. By the end of it, a lucky set of first-years will have summer internship offers in hand, ensuring a stress-free semester with plenty of time for their attention-deprived spouses, kids, girl- and boyfriends, and XBoxes. The rest will start scrambling. Since I am rather likely to end up in this latter category, you can expect a complete account of this process in my next missive.

chipmunk

Friday, January 25 is a day I will never forget. It was the first day of DIP week and the most harried of my short MBA career.  

Before I try to describe the chaos of this fateful day, perhaps I might remind readers of the reason for the tumult, and the events of the preceding days that led to it. As you may recall, as MBA students, many of us spent the fall dancing through information sessions, receptions, and office visits, all in hopes of finding a company with which to intern during the summer. In mid-January, the music stopped, and we were required to finally submit resumes and cover letters to our target firms through Wharton's online recruiting system--which, incidentally, is excellent. A few days later firms returned their verdicts, granting interviews to a fortunate few, and leaving the rest to ponder what they had done wrong in the fall.

Then came the task of scheduling our interviews. This is more difficult than it may sound. Almost all of my target firms had their first-round interviews on the 25th. Once a firm granted an interview, it became incumbent on the candidate to use Wharton's system to select an interview time. The system runs on a first-come, first-serve basis, so within minutes of the release of a firm's interview decisions, students began snapping up spots. There were always enough spots for everybody; the problem was finding times that did not conflict with existing interviews. The situation was complicated by the fact that interviews were being conducted both on-campus and at hotels around Philadelphia, and as one needed to allow for time to move between locations, developing a schedule became a logistical nightmare. As DIP week neared, Wharton's email system was flooded with a flurry of emails from students looking to swap interview slots.

In the end, my schedule was hardly ideal, but I was able to squeeze in all of my interviews. On paper, at least. In practice, the 25th was pandemonium. My diary should illustrate. The names are absent to protect the innocent and, mostly, to protect myself. Cue the circus music...

8:30 a.m. – Arrive at a hotel for my first appointment, a rare two-hour block of four interviews being conducted by the European arm of a U.S. bank. This bank is my top choice going in, although I am unsure about working in London or New York. While most firms use an initial half-hour interview as a gateway to more intensive interviews in the following days, the travel from London requires this bank to make their decision after a single pass. Aided by coffee and a conspicuous willingness to raid their pastry tray, I emerge feeling pretty confident.

10:30 a.m. – Have a mere 15 minutes until my next interview on campus. Almost run over a friend as I careen through the lobby. He blew his first interview and is nervous heading into the one I just finished. I give him a 30-second run down of the interviewers and rush out of the hotel to hail a cab.

10:55 a.m. – Stumble in ten minutes late. During the cab ride, I had intended to review my notes on this bank (their business strengths, what they're looking for in employees, people I've met), but was distracted as priceless minutes were consumed by morning traffic. Feeling frazzled, I blank on everything, mumble something about a desire to work hard, and began to wonder where I might travel during the summer in lieu of an internship.

11:15 a.m. – Confidence ebbing, I trudge across the hall to another interview room. One of my top choices awaits. Smiling and friendly, my interviewers' warmth allows me to regain my footing. I perform adequately, but I doubt that I will make it to the next round.

11:45 a.m. – A blessed lunch break. I have two hours to get my act together. I grumpily down a sandwich as I reflect on a disappointing morning. Feeling that I have lost my center, I retreat to a philosophy that has served me well in the past. Stop thinking, let things happen and be the ball (**see footnote). I run into more classmates, and the disaster stories begin to circulate. Apparently one guy has told the interviewer that he really wants to work for their company. Great, except he names the wrong company. My top choice awaits me.

1:45 p.m. – I interview with my top choice at another hotel. Things go splendidly. All of my efforts in the earlier months seem to have paid off, and I feel certain I will advance to the next round.

2:15 p.m. – Hop a cab back to campus. The sandwich is not sitting well in my stomach. Inexplicably I pick up a pack of M&Ms for the ride.

2:45 p.m. – Another company with which I had fantastic pre-interview interactions. Going in, I felt this was my best chance at getting an offer. Meet the interviewer. He asks me some asinine statistical question about red and white socks in a drawer. I answer "one-third", knowing full well that the answer is wrong, but unable to come up with anything better. He looks at me like I have grown a third eye. We continue to chat, and things actually get worse. You're not being the ball, Danny. At one point, I consider leaping across the table and throttling him. Instead, I thank him for his time and limp away, lamenting the loss of months of work in the space of twenty minutes.

3:15 p.m. – Move to another location. Try to explain my woes to the cabby. He too looks at me like I have grown a third eye. I remind myself to check a mirror once I get to the hotel.

3:45 p.m. – I am at the end of my rope. Eight interviews have left me rubbery. Too loose, my interview answers are all over the place, yet I click with the interviewers. We crack jokes. We laugh. I find the two interviewers both awe-inspiring and likeable. This bank had been mid-ranked, but this single interview vaults them to the top. This is where I want to work.

4:15 p.m. – They ask me if I can stick around for another couple of interviews. This creates a bit of a dilemma. I have another interview scheduled shortly, but it is with a firm well down my list. Canceling interviews at the last minute is bad form, but aware that situations like this arise, Wharton allows students to do it twice during DIP week. I call and offer the jilted firm my regrets. My additional interviewers are fantastic, and I am told I will be invited to their final round. I skate out of the hotel, spirits soaring. The mobile starts buzzing as people begin comparing notes. Most of my friends, many of whom spent the day as my competitors, seem to have emerged unscathed. We all agree some serious imbibing will be in order once this ordeal is over.

By the time I got back to my apartment, there were already two messages waiting for me, one ding and a surprising pass to a second round on Saturday. The evening passes with another happy phone call setting up a second round on Monday, and a couple of emails beginning "Despite your excellent record..." All in all, I feel pretty good. My batting average is hardly fantastic, but I am still alive.

My interviews on Saturday left me floored. My interviewers were of such extraordinary and intimidating quality that I emerged with a new top pick and little hope that it would give me an offer. Within 24 hours, I had twice reshuffled the rankings that I had previously thought so carefully considered. Apparently, this is not uncommon. The intensity and honesty of the interview process gives one a depth of insight into each firm that is impossible to divine during the preliminary events.

I got the call from my Saturday interviews the same evening. Once it became clear that they were not rejecting me outright, I froze. Whatever bit of cool I had maintained throughout the afternoon deserted me. The caller insinuated that they might be ready to give me an offer, but before they did, they wanted to know if I would accept an offer should they give me one. I desperately wanted to say yes, but knowing the tenuous nature of my rankings, I resisted. Despite my stuttering recalcitrance, they put an offer on the table. Hands shaking, I hung up the phone, walked outside and unreservedly whooped with joy.

In the end, after attending the other second round interviews, I took that first offer. I will be spending the summer on the trade floor with the Fixed Income, Commodities and Currencies group at Goldman Sachs in New York. I still feel like I won the lottery. Not necessarily an inappropriate emotion, since in many ways, the compressed interview cycle makes the whole affair a bit of a crapshoot. Plenty of my classmates still do not have internships lined up, and many of them are better qualified than I am. I just happened to click with a few people at the right moments.

Throughout the process, I promised myself that should I have the good fortune to land an offer, I would reward myself. So I did. An Xbox now occupies a hallowed spot in my living room, and although I'm a little hazy on the details, I would estimate that I lost at least three weeks as a result. In short, I would love to tell you about my third quarter classes, but I can't. I'm sure they were quite good, but aliens were attacking Earth, and it would have been terribly irresponsible of me to leave my post.

**For the uninitiated, "being the ball" is an allusion to the movie Caddyshack. If you have not seen this film, you simply must, as allusions to it are as common in B-school as references to Porter's Five Forces.

chipmunk

Summer greetings from New York. Like the hundreds of other eager MBAs who have flocked to this concrete furnace, I am sweating my way through a summer internship. Having reached the halfway point of the storied "MBA experience", it is worth reflecting on the past year and trying to articulate some goals for the coming year.  

An MBA is most often justified as an investment in one's future. The proposition is simple and seductive. By surrendering two years of salary and another hundred grand or so to boot, your career trajectory will steepen sharply, eventually catapulting you to such an altitude on the organization chart that nearly all the vertical lines are below you. Your stream of income, this thinking goes, will make your original investment look piddling in comparison. Pop your current salary and institution of choice into any one of the MBA calculators on the Net, and bingo, you can see for yourself the expected number of years until your investment repays itself. 7.6 years. That was my magic number, a reassuring mathematical certainty that steadied me as I signed my tuition deposit.

This characterization of an MBA is not wholly without truth, but the lackluster economy of late has revealed a disconnect between the justification of an MBA as an investment and the realities of the job market. For the first time in a decade, a significant percentage of students from the best business schools in the world are walking off the graduation stand without a job offer in hand. The task of searching for a job post-graduation is made doubly difficult by the rank of equally qualified first-year MBAs waiting in the wings. Businesses beset by an uncertain economy can easily take a pass on a freshly degreed candidate, confident that a whole new crop of eager and increasingly desperate overachievers will be knocking on their doors over the coming year.

At one time, the summer internship was viewed as an opportunity for experimentation, a no-commitment taste of a potential career. My class has no such frivolous illusions. For those focused on starting a new career in finance or consulting, the summer internship is a must-win game. Those who get offers will almost certainly snap them up, leaving those who do not facing a dismal fall semester, as banks and consultancies are expected to be largely absent from the traditional second-year recruiting drive. A friend interning in the M&A group at a major bank put it in stark terms: The majority of his summer class would probably not get offers, and for all intents and purposes, their careers as investment bankers would be finished.

Such a dreadful prognosis might be expected to instill panic in my class, but if my circle of friends is in any way typical, most students are handling the adversity with a remarkable sense of perspective. Such sanguinity may have something to do with the inaccuracy of the frequent portrayal of an MBA as a purely fiscal investment. While the career prospects attached to an MBA are undoubtedly a major attraction, students in my year are finding an altogether different reason to value it.

As one of my friends shockingly framed it, an MBA is, in his mind, nothing more than a consumer good--little different from a DVD player or a trip to Tahiti. This description will no doubt open me up to a flood of indignant protests. I have to confess that my initial reaction was equally haughty, but after talking through it, and witnessing the changes my own life has undergone over the past year, I think it's an idea worth sharing with anyone considering an MBA.

The argument is as follows: when you invest in an MBA, you are not only buying a skill set, but also a good of inestimable value, namely two largely unfettered years to recast your life in the colors and shapes of your choosing. That's two years without a boss, a paycheck, or a realization by the water cooler that your next 30 years of weekdays may start with the grating buzz of an alarm clock and grind of morning traffic. That's two years with the right to wake at noon and take a nap at three. Two years to try yoga, mountain climbing, or any of the other countless activities for which you never seem to have time. Two years to spend a long weekend skiing in Utah, spring break baking on the beach in Jamaica, or a dizzying 48 hours testing the principles of game theory in Vegas. Two years to sip coffee and have earnest discussions, largely abandoned since college, of what you really want to do with your life.

In short, an MBA is only the professionally acceptable way to take a two-year timeout from the rat race. Sure, you could pocket the tuition, rent a beach house, and blow 24 months drinking Coronas and slapping golf balls into the ocean, but when you decide to return to reality, have fun explaining away the gaping hole on your resume. An MBA is a perfectly defensible way to pull off the fast track. I can't think of many others.

I think it's fair to say that most people fondly remember their time as an undergraduate because it gave them the freedom to discover what kind of person they wanted to be. The magic of graduate school is that it gives you the freedom to enjoy the person you have become. Unlike undergrads, B-school students know the burden of shouldering a career, and savor their two years of freedom all the more because of it. We all know we will be working as hard as we ever have when we leave this place. We willingly choose that path, knowing that this is likely going to be our last chance for a very long while to live spontaneously.

If things go as I would hope, I will have three months next summer between my graduation and the start of my post-graduate career. After that, it will probably be at least two decades, and maybe three or four, before I have another summer without any formal demands on my time. By then, I will be old, probably quite fat, and gray (or more likely, bald). In a sense then, my post-graduate summer will be my last, best chance to enjoy the passions of my youth, before settling down upon the long and hopefully wonderfully winding path towards geriatric, chrome-domed obesity.

If that last part sounded cheesy and dumb, it was, but that doesn't change the fact that the MBA is much more than the prudent opportunity to "invest in yourself" that it is so often labeled. You are buying yourself time to do all the things you've always wanted to do. That may sound much less tangible than a six-figure salary, but in an economy where the financial rewards of B-school are no longer guaranteed, it's worth remembering.

chipmunk

"Gator boots with the pimped out Gucci suits,
Ain't got no job, but I stay sharp,
Can't pay my rent, cause all my money's spent,
But that's okay, cause I'm Still Fly..."
- Big Tymers, "Still Fly", Hood Rich  

I don't think the Big Tymers actually ever attended Wharton, but they nonetheless may have crafted the perfect theme song for the class of 2003. With the summer internship behind us, many of my classmates are still empty-handed, and a second year that might have been one long celebration of good fortune instead looks to be crammed with another round of recruiting events. Nonetheless, students are remarkably upbeat - student life is as sweet as ever, there is a lot of time yet to find the dream job, and many are thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, this is all for the best.

But before we get to the silver lining, it's worth considering the thick and grumbling cloud cover. Based on anecdotal evidence, Wall Street was not kind to business school interns this year. I've heard the term "bloodbath" bandied about. I know plenty of people who have full-time offers in hand, but for each of them, I know of somebody else who was denied. More often than not, the culprit is not a lack of talent, but headcount issues. One Wall Street executive told me this was the worst recruiting year he'd seen at his firm in the last decade.

Traditionally, Wall Street and management consulting firms hire a large percentage of Wharton's graduates. Both of those industries have suffered over the last two years, and although there are signs of a bottoming out that should reinvigorate hiring, the class of 2003 may be graduating a little too early to catch the rebound. The fall interview lineup has been reasonably robust, but suspicions abound that many of the firms are simply "window-dressing" - going through the motions to maintain their relationship with Wharton, but limiting offers to a few extraordinary candidates.

The situation is probably most frustrating for career changers and foreign students. One of the attractions of business school is the ability to leap into a new career, but many students are adopting a defensive posture and considering a return to their previous industries, leaving employers with little reason to consider an inexperienced candidate. Foreign students face similar difficulties. Many of the foreign students who attended Wharton with the goal of landing a position in the United States are finding that employers, blessed with a surplus of domestic candidates, are reluctant to wrestle with visa issues.

The good news is that there is renewed interest among the many employers who had previously found recruiting at Wharton unproductive. In a trend that hit its zenith during the dot-com boom, some employers decided their recruiting dollars were not well spent at Wharton. Back in those sunny days, students often had the luxury of choosing between a handful of job offers. Employers would spend thousands of dollars recruiting at Wharton only to find many of their offers declined.

Taking advantage of the down market, those employers are now returning. The increased variety is pushing many students to reconsider their instinctual attraction to Wall Street and management consulting. Opportunities that would once have been disregarded out-of-hand are now being given their deserved level of attention. While the name might not be Goldman Sachs or McKinsey, on closer inspection, the opportunities are frequently fantastic, and students are snapping them up.

"I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps
To find I'm A number one, head of the list,
Cream of the crop at the top of the heap."
- Frank Sinatra, "New York, New York"

Old Blue Eyes talks a good game, but if he had actually spent any time interning in New York, his lyrics might have focused more on his own lack of sleep. In a game where everybody stepped on the playing field knowing the number of offers would be miniscule, No. 1 was the only place to be -- and interns went after it ferociously. Anything less, and you might be walking home empty-handed.

Before I elaborate, let me deal with a series of questions from readers about my Goldman Sachs internship. First of all, no, I can't hook you up with an interview. Second, I can't give out any secrets - partly because I signed a confidentiality agreement and partly because I don't really know any. I will say this - the sterling reputation of the people at Goldman Sachs is not undeserved.

Assuming my lawyers let the previous paragraph slip through unscathed, let's get back to some general themes from the summer. One of the more striking trends from the summer was watching friends with investment banking internships come face-to-face with the realities of 100-hour workweeks. For some, it was nirvana. But, for many, investment banking forever lost its golden sheen. Several friends eventually turned down IB offers, deciding that enslavement, however well paid, was not for them.

Living in New York for the first time also unsettled some people. When I first moved to London several years ago, I found the first six months discombobulating. It takes at least that long to really get inside a city - adapt to its pace, make a network, discover the restaurants, clubs, and bars that will become your stomping grounds. With our internships lasting a mere 10 weeks, it was impossible to get settled. Several people I know, particularly West-coasters, stumbled away from New York vowing never to live there.

Incidentally, if you do spend the summer in New York, you could do worse than spending your rare sleeping hours in one of NYU's dorms. NYU rents them out on a weekly basis for the summer. The accommodations are spare, but they also are clean, well-managed, and serve well as a network hub. Wander in at any time of the day or night, and you're likely to run into a fellow B-schooler. Midnight pizza runs are always better with a partner.

Oh, one more crucial note: Prepare to get fat. Remember the "freshman fifteen" from college? Your summer will be an accelerated course in weight gain. Between sumptuous dinners, long hours, less sumptuous late night snacks, and a wee bit of stress, you're likely to find your trousers a bit snug by mid-August. Many people take the couple of weeks between the end of the internship and the start of classes to travel. I strongly advise this course. If you can arrange to do something active, you'll return to school as a svelter, less stressed version of your summer self.

'Look, if you had one shot, one opportunity
To seize everything you ever wanted-One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?"
-Eminem, "Lose Yourself"

Apologies for the gratuitous use of an Eminem lyric, but the song does rock, and it's a fair summary of the interview process that many fellow B-schoolers are now facing. Although it may qualify as a gallows humor, some of the best comedy since my return to school has been interview disaster stories. There are legions of them and if you've just been dinged they're a great source of solace.

With that in mind, I present the greatest story I have heard this fall. Let me preface it with a disclaimer. Very few interviews are ever this combative, but, on occasion, both interviewers and students have demonstrated shockingly bad behavior. It's rather amazing that professionals can treat each other with such disrespect, but it happens. Fortunately, in this case, the result was a classic story. Enjoy it, and should a phone call include the phrases "despite your excellent credentials" or "this has been a challenging year," gently hang up the phone and reflect on this heroic tale.

A fellow B-schooler (not from Wharton) was interviewing with an asset management group. Three interviewers had him corralled in a conference room. One was peppering him with questions, the second was making snide remarks, and the third was staring out the window, apparently uninterested in the student's nervous answers. The interview, which hadn't gone particularly well, was almost over when the interviewers dropped a statistical brainteaser, something to the effect of "If there are three drawers, one with 70% red socks, 30% blue socks, yada, yada, what are the odds of you pulling out a matching pair?"

As the student stumbled through the logic, the interviewers began harassing him, with one interviewer actually giggling at the student's torment. Unlike many interviewers who actively help interviewees when they have trouble with a question, this trio gleefully worked to increase the student's misery. Finally one said, in an unmistakably patronizing tone, "You seem to be having trouble. How about a pen and paper?"

All three tittered as the student bashfully took the paper and continued to struggle. After another 90 seconds of scribbling and abuse, he finally burped up an answer that was, of course, completely incorrect. All three laughed, and one guy began the traditional "Thank you for interviewing with us, best of luck, yada, yada" speech.

The student, dead as Marley, slowly rose to leave, with the continued giggles of his interviewers serenading his exit. As he got to the door, he stopped and turned to the interviewers. "Hey, guess what, I have a probability question for you."

The interviewers, all quants, looked at him eagerly. "Okay," the student began, "let's say that in this whole company, 10% of the employees are jerks, what are the odds that all three guys in this room are jerks?"

The laughing stopped. The interviewers stared at him drop-jawed. After several seconds of silence, the student looked at them compassionately and offered the goods in his hands. "It's looks like you're having some difficulty, maybe a pen and paper would help."

As one interviewer, still pie-eyed, took the paper, the student smiled, said, "Thank you for allowing me to interview today, best of luck in the future," turned, and walked out the door.

Needless to say, he did not get an offer. It should also be noted that he used a slightly more colorful word than "jerk", but that was probably obvious.

chipmunk

Hello from Tallinn, Estonia. For those of you unfamiliar with Eastern European geography, Estonia is the northernmost of the three Baltic countries - Soviet republics just over a decade ago and, should the remaining referendums proceed as expected, members of the European Union in 2004. I'm here for a couple of months helping a small non-profit put together a business plan for some English-based private schools.  

It's a worthy endeavor, but in some ways it's nothing more than a defensible reason to spend the summer alternately traveling the countryside, basking in the cool Baltic sun, belatedly catching up on Wharton reading assignments, and sitting in outdoor cafes perusing the Web. (Estonia prides itself on its wireless infrastructure, which has curiously led some of its more exuberant citizens to seriously suggest the country be renamed "e-stonia".)

While some of my less generous friends, usually those tethered to office chairs, have characterized this adventure as "goofing off," I consider it an integral part of the Wharton experience. With full-time positions typically scheduled to commence early in the autumn, graduates have a good three months to spend as they wish, and from what I can tell, most of us are traveling. August will usher in our new careers, and with them the normal host of time constraints and responsibilities. We respond by rushing out to see the bits of the planet we have previously overlooked and savoring our last gasps of unbridled freedom.

Taking a breather seems particularly appropriate because a recent inspection of my student loan reports has caused some hyperventilation. My, oh my, how the bulkpacks, club fees, and afternoon cappuccinos add up. It seems I could have traded my Wharton education for a nice three-bedroom in the country.

That observation inevitably leads to the oft-repeated question, was it worth it? Any regrets, after two years, a lot of sweat and stress, and more Ben Franklins than you can fit in a carry-on bag? While I won't be able to fully answer this question for several more years, my initial response, stated without hesitation, is that by any metric – time, money, hangovers - Wharton was worth it.

The most direct benefit is that I am now embarking on a dream career with a wonderful employer, one who likely would have filed any previous resume submissions from me in the circular file. Save a remarkable stroke of luck, there is no way I could have landed this position without an MBA. With an undergraduate engineering degree and a technical background, the pigeonhole was simply too deep. An MBA was one of the few reliable routes to a career change.

In addition, the education itself was excellent. While the first year was built around necessary, if not thrilling, core courses, the second year allowed me to chew on some remarkably challenging subjects. Two classes that demonstrate Wharton's finance leadership dominated my spring semester.

The first, "Financial Engineering," required students to come to terms with the strengths and limitations of the mathematics buttressing the dominant financial models. Any pretensions I had about the rigors of my undergraduate engineering experience were quickly discarded. By the end of the semester, it rarely took more than fifteen minutes for my eyes to glaze over, as my bedazzled brain did somersaults trying to make sense of that day's motley crew of Greek symbols. If you love spreadsheets and convoluted conversations with teammates about the minutia of market behavior, which, pathetically, I do, then this class is for you.

The second class was a seminar on trading and investment management. Frankly, I didn't get too much out of the lectures, but the workshops every Wednesday afternoon were the highlight of my week. For ninety minutes, my classmates and I took over a computer lab, rearranging machines as we felt necessary in preparation for a trading game that was reasonably educational and spectacularly fun. Seated in front of a window on a virtual electronic market, each student was given an initial portfolio and different clues to the true values of the traded products. The market was turned on, and trading mania ensued. The specifications of the market, its products, and its behavior changed from week to week, which meant each Wednesday was different and Tuesday evenings were reserved for building models.

While some people demonstrated success through their pure instincts for trading. But, in most cases, a superior model led to superior performance, especially in contrast to the occasions when someone realized halfway through a market cycle that their model was flawed. This discovery was normally accompanied by a growl and a muttered curse. At least, on two inglorious occasions, that was my response.

While classes were not as satisfying as these two, every class benefited from the diversity of backgrounds that Wharton works so hard to cultivate. I didn't appreciate the value of Wharton's devotion to diversity until I was immersed in the school's culture, and I would recommend that anyone shopping for the "right" business school incorporate this attribute into their considerations. No matter what the subject, it was rare to find a classroom discussion untouched by a member of the class with pertinent and enlightening experience.

Diversity was even more valuable outside the classroom. Formulate an esoteric question about some aspect of business, be it the intricacies of the auto industry in Brazil or the strength of the economy in Croatia, and there was someone who could help you. More remarkably, perhaps, they were almost always willing. Despite a busy schedule, students were generous with their time and experiences.

Which leads us to one of the oft-stated strengths of the MBA experience, networking. In my mind, there are two types of networks developed at a business school. The first, and arguably the more important, is the circle of friends one builds. Now, I could go into a tear-evoking monologue about the virtues of those in my ring, but I'll mercifully spare you. Safe to say, you'll make lifetime friends during the two years.

The other network is the larger and more remote scattering of acquaintances. These are the people you know by face and name, who you've perhaps chatted with over a drink, who after a moment's recognition, you might stop and chat with on a busy street -- and who may eventually open a door, give you a job, or become your start-up's first customer. There are people I like, and there are people who are destined for success, but until Wharton, I had never met so many people who shared both traits. It is hard to estimate precisely how valuable my Wharton network will prove to be, but I would not be surprised if the network by itself makes the financial investment worthwhile.  

The value of the network is complemented by the value of the Wharton brand name. It is easy to misuse this asset, such as mentioning your Wharton MBA within the first 15 seconds of a conversation and consequently defining yourself as a self-absorbed jerk. Employed subtly, however, the brand name gives one instant business credibility.

I have already had several conversations this summer with Americans regarding the non-profit project. Once the Wharton name was dropped, questions of business acumen or experience vanished. Credibility that would have ordinarily taken weeks of dedicated effort to earn is granted immediately. It is, frankly, a little bit disconcerting. Playing dumb, a favorite strategy of mine and, not coincidentally, one that comes naturally, is tough once the Wharton background emerges.

The main shortcoming of the Wharton brand is its lack of visibility outside of the United States. This is changing, but at least in Europe, it will be a few years before the Wharton name does not need to be accompanied by a windy explanation that it is a business school linked to the University of Pennsylvania, yada yada. Confusion, rather than credibility, is the typical result. While I naturally tend to side with Wharton in the never-ending who-is-better Wharton vs. Harvard debate, I will concede that Harvard's brand name is platinum-plated. Everyone recognizes it everywhere. Tell a bushman in the Kalahari that you attended Harvard B-school, and I'm certain he'd just nod and ask for your thoughts on how to re-engineer his goat herd.

There is a final intangible that you are buying with a Wharton education, and it is one I have dwelt on considerably throughout these diaries. It is two years of freedom from the normal rigors of modern life. I have gushed about this in every other article, so I'll keep the reiteration here to a minimum. Suffice it to say, that business school gives you the opportunity to devote time to arranging your life in preparation for your entry into a dedicated career.

For some that meant a new set of hobbies, for others the perfect time to have a first child. For me it meant the chance for extended travel. I will likely not have the chance to once again travel in the same fashion until my retirement. Even if all the other benefits of a Wharton education somehow prove worthless, my experiences over the two years easily justify the investment.

With that final rationalization for the accumulated debt that will be riding me for next couple of decades, I think it is probably time to say goodbye. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read my drivel, and a special thanks to everyone who has taken the time to write. I tried my best to answer everyone's emails. If I missed yours, rest assured that you weren't the only one and that my silence was never malicious. I sometimes just got pinched for time.

Otherwise, good luck to everyone, especially those preparing for the application process. And especially, especially those who aren't doing it for the first time. I feel your pain.